


Flowers and bad ideas

by TinyThoughts



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Ideas, Flowers, Geraskier, M/M, fields, geralt has the dumbs, jaskier has the sniffles, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 05:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26347492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyThoughts/pseuds/TinyThoughts
Summary: He knows it’s a bad idea, his nose always starts dripping and his eyes get swollen and itchy. But Jaskier loves bad ideas. That’s how all his masterpieces are written after all.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	Flowers and bad ideas

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt by my dearest Gandalf, @Impalaloompa who just happens to be an amazing writer and borrowed me the braincell when i had a bad case of writersblock. It kind of ran away from me but I had fun ehehe.  
> Hope you all enjoy it (:

The skies are clear and blue above them. Lazy white clouds drift over them, the summer heat making any attempt at movement slow and drowsy. Despite this, Geralt has decided they need to be on their way. Despite this, Geralt has donned his leather and his armor. Despite this he keeps a brisk pace on the dirt road, every now and then reminding Roach to keep going with a nudge of his heels.  
Walking next to and slightly behind them walks a bard, completely bored out of his mind and in so much misery because of the gods damned heat.   
It’s the kind of heat that gives the air above the road a floaty quality. Don’t ask Jaskier for better words to describe it right now please, his brain is boiling inside his skull. 

In a desperate attempt to distract himself from the slow cooking of his most prized body part (wait, scratch that, second most prized body part!) he looks around. Maybe there are some greens he can use to decorate his brain when it is ready to be served. A wild pepper mayhaps? A handful of berries? A decorative flower might suit?  
Jaskier fans himself with his hands, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. It makes no difference whatsoever, no respite to be found. His tunic sticks to his back under all the layers of what is deemed proper, summer or no. Jaskier will never understand what keeps Geralt going, and how he is still alive clad in all that leather.  
Not that he complains, mind you, that behind wrapped in leather like a gift is a sight to behold no matter the weather conditions, but he would never be able to walk around like that himself.

The road leads them from between the rolling hills and up on a small height. Roach doesn’t stop, the soft sound of her hooves hitting the gravel making a steady rhythm to organize his thoughts around.  
But finally something distracts Jaskier and his boiling brain.

On the soft slope of the hill they are standing on a wide field stretches out. The high grass is speckled with colours, like tiny stars growing out of the ground.   
It is beautiful.

Jaskier has to stop and just take it all in. To just take a moment, take a breath and take it in. He might stand there a bit too long, because the rhythm of hooves stops and Geralt turns to look at him. Jaskier snaps himself out of it, and he means to catch up with them, he really does.   
But his eyes keep straying to the field of flowers and he finds himself drawn to it.  
So Jaskier gives in.   
He knows it’s a bad idea, his nose always starts dripping and his eyes get swollen and itchy. But Jaskier loves bad ideas. That’s how all his masterpieces are written after all.  
So he puts his lute down carefully on the road, pushes his sweaty hair from his face and throws himself into the field with a squeal.

He runs straight out into it, down the slope with his arms outstretched. The grass reaches up to his knees and tangles with his legs and he goes down, falling into it willingly.  
“Jaskier!” comes from behind him and he can hear Geralt dismount. Jaskier pays the witcher no mind, propping himself up on his elbows like a kid and bends the nearest flower to his nose. If he is going to spend the rest of the day sniffling he might as well make it worth it. The smell is sweet and he can feel a smile stretch across his lips.  
“Jaskier!” Geralt calls out again, hurrying up behind him and pulling him up to a sitting position. As predicted, Jaskiers eyes are already itching and his nose is starting to do its thing. 

Still smiling, still with Geralt's hands on his shoulders, Jaskier looks at this wonderful man, kneeling with him in a field of growing stars. It’s a very nice feeling.  
“Yes, my dear witcher?” He says, not understanding at all why Geralt looks so worried.  
“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Geralt asks, frowning slightly at Jaskiers loopy expression.   
“It is very warm, but yes.” Geralt's eyes widen in alarm when Jaskier turns his head and sneezes loudly. “And these flowers are trying to kill me, but other than that I am perfectly fine.”

Jaskier regrets his choice of words immediately as Geralt janks him up and drags him over to Roach.  
“I knew it.” Geralt mumbles as he starts digging in his saddle bags. “I knew something was wrong.”  
“What? No? Nothing is wrong, I should just not have smelled those flowers is all.” This doesn’t help at all and Geralt searches even more frantically in the bags.  
“Poisonous. They are poisonous, nobody just falls down from running in the grass. Fuck where are they?!”  
“They were poisonous?! Meliteles tits Geralt, why didn’t you stop me?! Am I going to die?!” The heat is suddenly overbearing, his sniffles and sweating worrying, heart racing towards his doom.  
“I don’t know Jaskier but your eyes are swelling up and you are sweating and that is not normal.” Geralt says through gritted teeth and wait, hang on. It finally clicks for Jaskier.  
“Oh Geralt.” He chuckles, a hand on the witchers arm to turn him. “Im fine!” He says again, trying to smile comfortingly. But his eyes itch so much so he reaches up a hand to rub it, and his nose refuses to stay dry. Geralt just gives him an incredulous look.  
“It’s true, it’s just the allergies.” As if to prove his point, another sneeze forces his way out and his eyes tears up from the force of it.  
“See? Not dying.” He says, voice strained as he wipes away snot and tears and sweat. Geralt is entirely unconvinced.  
“I promise you, I am not dying. Not from this anyway. And you can’t tell me sweating is not normal when it feels like we are walking on the inside of a fire elemental's arse crack. But prettier.”   
Seriously, how is Geralt stil standing up in this heat with leather and armor? His brain must be boiled into mush too, because Geralt reaches up and places his hand on Jaskiers cheek. His thumb traces the thin skin under Jaskiers itching eyes and there, Jaskiers brain checked out entirely.  
“Promise?” Geralt says, and it is completely unfair. Jaskier would promise anything if those callused fingers touched his skin.   
“Yes. It’s only allergies.” He assures him again, but he is not so sure anymore. He is definitely feeling a little faint. But to prove it, he takes Geralt's other hand and places it over his speeding heart, as if that would clear things up. The boiled brain has checked out and thus the reasoning is somewhat flawed.  
Geralt's fingers splay over his heart, Jaskiers hand circling around his wrist to keep him in place. The witcher's eyes are trained on his chest, a new rhythm taking the place of roaches hooves. An uneven, desperate and lovesick rhythm, but not a dying one. Not this time. Then their eyes meet again, and Jaskier pulls in a breath through his open mouth (his nose is too busy being allergic).  
Then Geralt chuckles and all gods above Jaskier want to kiss him.  
“You’re a mess” Geralt smirks and lets his hands fall to his sides. Jaskier has to stand there for a moment, once again taking it all in with all the limitations a boiled and absent brain brings.   
He is indeed a mess, inside and out. A third sneeze explode from him, snot flying, eyes reluctant to open again.

Geralt strolls back up the hill and picks up Jaskiers lute, putting it on his back after strapping his swords to the saddle.  
“Up.” Is all Geralt says and motions for Jaskier to climb up Roachs back. Jaskier is sceptical. That never went well before.  
“Why?” he asks, eyes squinting and darting between the two. “I'm not dying?”  
“So may be, but we will never get to the next town in time for the contract if you are insisting on falling into a field of flowers every few minutes.”   
And sure, Geralt has a point. He climbs up with some assistance and then takes out his handkerchief to wipe his nose.  
“Still not dying.” He complains.  
“I remain unconvinced.” Geralt smirks up at him and grabs Roachs reins and leads them onwards.   
They start making their way onwards, Jaskier only being allowed to sit there. No more bad decisions for Jaskier today, for surely the next thing he would do is fling himself into his witchers arms.  
Which, hey, are not a bad idea at all!

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at me on Tumblr! Im Dapandapod <3


End file.
